


This is my kingdom come

by Cockbite (personalized_radio)



Series: The Cockbite Syndicate [5]
Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Choking, James-centric, M/M, a lil bit bc novahd are kinky idk, dumb ass metaphors and implications whoops, hamfisted royal court metaphors, lots of metaphors is what im saying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 10:29:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15117497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/Cockbite
Summary: He’s got big eyes. Warm, kind, gentle.They say when you kneel at his throne, those eyes capture you. They’reinnocent, to the ways of the world and to what it means to sit on that throne.





	This is my kingdom come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elbo2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbo2/gifts).



> Happy bday friend!!!! i know this isnt cctv au or sailor moon au BUT ive had it kind of tumbling in my head for awhile so i finally set down and wrote it all out. i hope you like it <3
> 
> you can find me [on Tumblr](https://cockbite.tumblr.com/)! i post fake/gta!au :)

He’s got big eyes. Warm, kind, gentle. 

They say when you kneel at his throne, those eyes capture you. They’re _innocent_ , to the ways of the world and to what it means to sit on that throne.

He’s got big hands. Warm, kind, gentle.

They say when you kneel at his throne, those hands settle on your shoulders. They hold you firm and comfort you, fingers like a winter scarf as they knit across your throat and cradle you. Steal your breath.

He’s got a big smile. Warm, kind, gentle.

They say when you kneel at his throne, that smile slides to his lips like honey in tea. That it lulls you as you choke, that if it’s the last thing you see, at least it is loving.

They don’t say anything about what happens after those eyes, those hands, that smile captures you.

No one lives long enough to tell that story.

-

“James,” Brett sighs, “I don’t think Cockbite is going to go down easy with tricks like this. You’re gonna upset them, upset the _balance_.”

James casts him a glance out of the corner of his eyes, flashes a dangerous grin, slowly moves a chest piece closer to the center of the board, where the king stands proud, surrounded by a queen, two rooks, a knight, one lonely bishop just behind them all. 

“Maybe,” James says, adjusts his piece - the only black piece on the board, a pawn - so that he’s just a couple squares away from the King, “But what if the pawn takes the king.”

“You can’t _take_ a king. That’s not how the game works.”

“What game?” James says, smiles wider, strikes out so fast that Brett barely has time to sigh in irritation as James sweeps all the pieces away from the board, leaving it bare again.

“You always do that just before you lose.”

“I don’t play games that I don’t win,” James reminds him, carefully picks a new black piece from the table and sets it in the middle of the board. It’s a Queen this time. A plan centered around Aleks has about as much success as the last time they played it but James is never quite willing to take _no_ for an answer.

“You weren’t even playing. You just set all the pieces up like that to be dramatic.”

“Let me have this,” James wrinkles his nose at him, eyes warm in the dim light of the mostly broken bulb, warm with amusement.

Brett sighs, moves to pick up the pieces from the floor at James’ feet.

“Set the board properly, idiot. We’ll run through it again.”

“But the _balance_ ,” James mocks, and Brett feels his frustration. Feels it as his own. He wants it, too, to see James in the middle of this board.

“I suppose no gods sit on their thrones for forever.” Brett admits, and kneels.

-

“James,” Trevor whines, clutching the rings of the ladder, “Seriously, dude, I‘m not going anywhere faster than this pace right here.”

“Oh, young Trevor,” James sighs at him, like he’s old beyond his years, and Trevor would feel bad except he’d heard James make that same sound when he’d opened the fridge and found all the La Croix gone this morning. “Follow me and you shall be _rewarded_.”

“Can’t you talk like a normal person,” Trevor asks, and takes the hand James holds down for him. James helps him up the last of the ladder, until they’re standing on the roof of the warehouse. James leaves the hatch open, but Trevor isn’t worried. No one would follow them up without announcing themselves well beforehand.

“Can’t you talk like a normal person,” James mimics back in a high-pitched, whiny voice that grates on Trevor’s ears. He scowls, but James only grins back until, against his will, his lips twitch, too. That fucking smile. 

James looks away from him and Trevor takes a deep breath. There are two kinds of breathing in his world; the breathing your body does naturally and the breathing your body does when James looks at you. They are distinct, though Trevor couldn’t say how. Maybe that’s why he has to go.

“Look at this dump,” James says, and sounds pleased, “All ours.” “Oh, yeah,” Trevor rubs his nose with the back of his hand, “A real treasure.”

“Yeah,” James says, except he sounds like he means it, “One day, it’s gonna be burnt to the ground. The rest of the city will be ours. And one day we’ll be burnt to the ground, and the rest of the city will be yours.”

“Oh, dude,” Trevor sneers, “Don’t say shit like that. I don’t want a city.” Not without his crew.

“Oh, dude, I don’t want a city -” James mimics back again, “Shut up.”

They go back to being quiet, Trevor not sure how to feel and James as unreadable as always as he looks over their property.

“Go out.” James finally speaks again, soft enough that Trevor has to come closer to listen, “Have your fun, travel and make friends and visit and shit. But you remember.”

He doesn’t turn his head, but Trevor knows he’s smiling, knows his eyes are warm in the dying sun, that his hands would easily reach back if Trevor went to him and stood at the very edge of the building like he was. Trevor isn’t entirely sure they’d both come back down via ladder if he did, though.

“When I’m in the Kingpin’s place, you come home to me.”

“...yeah,” Trevor says, because there’s really no other answer he wants or has the choice to give. 

He sits, eventually, and James stands and they both look out at the simple street, the fast food place, the businesses, the trash. At some point, he moves enough to lean against James’ leg and James drops a hand on his head, fingers threading through his hair, and he feels the danger he’s in but knows he’s safe all the same.

They watch for a long time, and then he goes home and leaves for Montana that night. But he remembers those fingers in his hair, and that steady voice reminding him that he would go home one day to take a city.

-

“James,” Jakob says, adjusting his hat. The bells chime angrily as he does, “This is so fuckin’ stupid.”

“I dunno what you want,” James shrugs, “It’s the only costume we had left. Just, uh. Crack some jokes. Do a little jig. Distract.”

James wiggles a little, in an odd...way. Kicks his legs out one at a time, kind of, pumps his fists in front of him to the rhythm of his fast kicks, like an Irish jig except with a puppet whose joints are rusted over. He goes still again, grinning like it’s a joke that only he finds particularly funny. His eyes are dark, but Jakob is one of the few who wouldn’t describe them as warm. They’re almost empty, when he looks at them. He knows what lies behind the wide stare and gentle smile. He’s loyal, he’d cut off his own tongue for this man, but he’s not the fool.

Despite the hat. 

The guy behind him, Jakob hadn’t bothered to learn his name, makes a sound as he gets up from where he’d been counting money.

“All done, boss,” He says, sounding tired. He’s been counting for the last two hours. He’d slipped at least three hundred picks into his own pocket since then.

“Come on, Jake,” James says, motioning with one hand, even as he raises the gun with the other and fires. Jakob doesn’t flinch as the echo in the warehouse reverberates over and over and over and over until it’s nothing but ringing in his ears. He doesn’t hear the body behind him fall, just starts to walk toward James, still grumbling about this stupid get up, but he knows it did. 

“Maybe he’d have lived longer if you’d practiced your jokes on him. Laughter’s the best medicine ‘n’ all.” 

“Pass.” Jakob says, drifting to his side, and then just a little behind. 

He doesn’t joke with dead men. Just another body to add to the pile in Jakob’s memory.

He misses Trevor more and more each day. At least then he’d had someone to share the pile with.

He cracks a joke as they walk, makes James laugh. Readjusts his hat.

-

“J _a_ mes- _uh_ ,” Lindsey exhales so hard she almost imagines that she’s lost all the oxygen in her entire body, but James just laughs at her.

“Kidding,” He says, even though he really isn’t and they both know it. 

“You can’t just raze every crew you don’t like to the ground. You’re not strong enough yet. You’ll exhaust us.” 

“You’ll pull through,” James says, with that same casual level of loyalty that put him where he is. 

“No, we won’t,” She says firmly, because _someone_ has to tell this man _no_ , and she’s the only one that smile, those eyes don’t quite work on. God forbid _Aleks_ grow a backbone. “We’re still recovering from the last scorched earth you put us through. Listen. Just. Try some damn diplomacy. You’ll catch more flies with honey than paper, you know.”

“I don’t want flies.” James finally loses his smile and it’s replaced with a frown she doesn’t like, even as much as she knows it’s necessary. “I want their shit.”

“Well, you’re shit out of luck, ain’t ya’?” She pokes at the pile of papers in front of her, “Sacrifices. We’re making small sacrifices now, so we can get the bigger pay off later. Remember?”

“...I guess.”

“Exactly.” She finally leans back in her chair, feeling at least this accomplished. James sees _sense_ , even if she has to beat it over his head until he does.

He cards a hand through his hair, shoves it out of his face, curls his fingers through the locks and ties it back up into a messy bun that she refuses to find endearing, face a mask of concentration as he looks at the papers between them. 

“What if we called Bruce...made a deal with him to sell some of the shit we got from Suptic...make a penny or two, find ourselves in a nice middleman position. For a time. Then they’ll cut us out.” 

“And make things a little less tense with the sugar boys. Lower their barriers.” Lindsey agrees, her shoulders relaxing. This was a plan. This, they could work with.

He smiles again, different this time, and she smiles back before she can catch herself. His eyes gleam, she notices, when he notices. 

“You’re a menace,” she says, forcing her smile away.

“Maybe.” He agrees, and looks back down at the papers.

-

“James,” Asher says softly, nervous energy in the tapping tips of his fingers against his pocket, in the way he breathes a little too fast, “News.”

“Okay?” James glances at him, but doesn’t move off the couch. Aleks is sleeping with his upper body on James’ lap, head buried in his arms resting on James’ thighs, and James strokes through his hair slow and gentle and Asher is almost jealous because of how soothing it seems to him. He’s not the soothed type, though, never has been and never will be; he runs on his energy, on _going and going and going_ until he can’t go no more. 

Plus, he’s never understood how Aleks can sleep so soundly in a place like this. The warehouse isn’t safe, it’s not _safe_ like their homes are. Maybe it’s just because James is here.

He settled on the ottoman, starts to tap his toe on the concrete. Most people tell him to stop, tell him he’s annoying, that he’s making them nervous. James doesn’t bat an eye, doesn’t stop watching Aleks’ chest rise and fall.

“Fakehaus and Kingpin are having secret meetings again,” he says, a hushed whisper that really doesn’t do much with most of the warehouse empty. Except for Anna, because Anna is always waiting for him in the shadows, watching, protecting them all. First to come, last to leave, that’s Anna. Brett is always just after or just before her, though Lindsey will beat him sometimes. And of course, Trevor, before he’d gone on his journey, had always been close by and watching -

“Meetings,” James prompts, and Asher blinks at him, fast, one-two-three, an itch he can’t scratch.

“Meetings between Kingpin and Fakehaus,” He repeats, “Between Kingpin and Kovic, between Kingpin and Lawrence, between Kingpin and Elyse.”

“Just them?”

“Sources say,” Asher shrugs, “I don’t trust ‘em. Elyse wouldn’t hide anything from James. Kovic wouldn’t hide anything from Bruce.”

“They’re a pack,” James agrees, frowns thoughtfully, “...Tomorrow, I want you to take Aleks and Anna and go on a picnic. That nice park, you know? Some grass, some dogs, some cute kids on the playground. Eat a sandwich, whatever you eat at a picnic. Go on a walk. Pick a place. Burn it down.”

“Yeah?” Asher says, and wonders if the word _burn_ somehow penetrates Aleks’ sleeping mind because he notices him shift in James’ lap. 

“Yeah.” James hums a little, finally stops watching Aleks to look at Asher, instead. “Set it up so it looks...sweet. Cib’s always a little too willing to throw caution to the wind for fun. Lindsey’ll give you something to plant tomorrow if you ask.”

“Elyse’ll be mad,” Asher says, finally stopping the tap-tap-tap-tap-taptaptap _taptaptap_ of his foot on the ground, finally feels the itch scratched, “She’ll be real mad. That’s her favorite park.”

“Will she?” James hums again, shorter, less thoughtful, “Burn two places down, then.”

“Okay,” Asher says, still still, “Even though she’ll be mad?”

“I’m sick of being the only mad one around here.” James shrugs, so Asher gets up and nods and finds Anna waiting in the shadows just like he knew she would. He feels James watching him, watching with those eyes, with that smile Asher knows is there.

When they leave, Anna at his side, the two of them alone again, he starts tap-tap-tapping at his thigh with his fingers.

-

“James,” Anna blinks once, twice, three times, four, “Oh, sorry. I was just taking care of something.”

“You all done?” James asks, leaning against the doorframe. She can see his front room from her vantage point on his porch, the light so much brighter than the moon and stars she’d been working by. 

The body is still warm between her thighs, the blood still burning hot on her hands, arms, neck, face. She’s still got her knife buried in his throat, fingers so tightly gripping the handle that she isn’t sure she can let go just yet. Asher is sleeping inside, and Aleks, and Lindsey, maybe. A late meeting that Brett and Jakob had ducked out of, that Trevor is still not in the state for. Her place hadn’t been inside, though; not when she’s heard so many rumors, seen so many hit notices. She’s glad she was outside, now. Asher wasn’t good with blood, really, and James would have been pissed if he’d had to scrub it out of his floorboards again. Though perhaps the porch wasn’t much better.

“Yes.” She says, though there is a part of her that wants nothing more than to continue to stab. She’s still angry; angry that this man accepted the hit, angry that he came after James, her family, angry that he came _here_ , where they are allowed to be vulnerable and safe. She wishes he were still alive just so she could kill him again. It’s an impulse that would have been impossible to ignore before James. Now, it’s just a passing thought that she sets aside. Her task is done. 

James leaves his doorway, comes to a stop at her side. He offers a hand, silent, and she slowly, painfully, releases her grip on her knife. Reaches up to take his hand. He helps her up, tucks some hair behind her ear, smiles at her and it’s oddly proud. 

“You did a good job. Good control.” He looks down at the body, “Are you hurt?”

“No,” She shrugs a little, doesn’t bother looking back down at her work, “I’ll take care of this.”

“I’ll deal with it,” He pats her shoulder, “Go clean yourself up.”

“But -”

“Anna,” He cuts her off, though he sounds more fond than annoyed, “Seriously. I’ll take care of it. Go clean yourself up before Asher sees you.”

She hesitates just a moment longer, but the danger has passed and she knows he’s right. She nods once, firm, and leaves him to deal with the body. Slips inside, to the downstairs bathroom. She showers, scrubs her skin and hair until it’s all clean. He sent her away so she wouldn’t be tempted, and she is thankful. 

She looks at herself in the mirror after, tries to remember a time when killing someone would have had her hurling her guts into the toilet instead of casually drying her hair with a towel.

He had come for her family, though. She hadn’t hunted him down, only protected what was her’s. She feels no guilt. She hasn’t felt guilt in a long time, not since James had asked her to kill for his sake, instead of just her own.

James had been pleased. That made her warm, in a way it always did. She likes that she has a place now, a family that cares, people who understood her. James had never feared her, flinched from her, worried that she would turn on him. And he gave her Asher.

She finds him scrubbing the porch boards when she is dressed again. She kneels by his side, takes one of the rough scrubbers from the bucket of hot, soapy water.

“You’ve done enough,” He says, voice quiet even though there is no one else around for miles who is awake. “You did this for me. I’ll clean up.”

“I know,” She says, and starts to clean. 

He doesn’t say anything back, but he goes back to scrubbing, too. They clean together until the blood is as gone as it can be, and then she helps him pull the carpet from one side of the porch to the other to hide the lasting stain. He’ll have to replace the boards later but, for now, it’s all that can be done.

She feels accomplished, knowing he is safe for another night, that her family inside slept peacefully through the intrusion. 

She’d do it again, _will_ do it again, for this man and these people. Until he’s at the top, and she can watch him reign proudly. If he falls, she will fall, too, and she knows that her crew will follow. 

But that is for the future. For now, he makes coffee and laughs with eyes that are warm and she sips her mug and thinks of how lonely that girl throwing up into the toilet had been and how happy she is now. All she’d had to trade for this was the guilt, and that had been so easy.

He makes things seem to simple, with his smile and his eyes and the warm hands on her shoulders telling her when to stop, when to breathe and control herself before she goes too far. 

She doesn’t regret it for a moment, even when the blood cakes every inch of her.

-

“James,” Aleks chokes out, tilts his head back against the pillow for more. Sweat, freezing, slides down his temple, joins the tear tracks coming from the corners of his eyes, joins the pool of salty wetness soaking into the pillow. James’ palm is firm against his throat, his smile dark and loving as he presses down until Aleks can’t talk anymore. His thighs ache where he’s had them spread for what feels like hours, his head pulses, his eyes hurt, his ears ring, his back arches, his cock jerks under James’ other palm. His eyes fall almost closed as his mouth gaps, tries to bring in air James won’t allow him to have. He feels James in him, hard, smooth strokes into Aleks’ trembling body, his eyes big and dark in the dim of their bedroom. Aleks can’t close his eyes completely, can’t take them off the look of pure bliss on James’ face at having Aleks under him like this.

Aleks’ hands don’t pull against the restraints, but only because he’s too weak. His wrists bear the marks from when he had been stronger, but that was so long ago now. 

His vision is darkening, his eyes fluttering, tongue dry as it flicks out in a futile effort to wet his lips. He wants to have James like this for an eternity. He’s the only one who’s had those eyes, those hands, that smile turned on him and lived to tell the tale.

James lets up suddenly, just when Aleks is close to passing out, and he breathes in so sharply that it hurts. It’s a moment of such intense clarity and relief that he feels his body lock up against his will, feels his hips jerk hard, hands suddenly clambering against the headboard as he breathes out a voiceless groan. His hips roll with his release, toes curling, heels digging frantically into James’ thighs as he tries to keep him close. James leans down, claims his mouth in a brutal, biting kiss, holds his jaw in place and Aleks is torn between kissing him and basking in the rough, short bursts of movement between their bodies as James chases his own orgasm with Aleks’ body.

“Come on,” he says when James is panting, eyes closed tight, their sweaty foreheads pressed together, sharing the air between them. James is trembling, so close that Aleks can see him cresting. “Come on, come on, what are you waiting for -”

“Shut up,” James hisses, tugging at Aleks’ hair, biting at his lip until Aleks feels warm blood bloom. He licks it away without hesitation, bites James back just as hard and it’s with the taste of him in his mouth that he feels James’ body tense against his, feels his hips still, feels his warmth. 

“ _Bitch_ ,” James curses at him, poking at the split lip with his tongue, and Aleks just grins back and tugs meaningfully at his restraints.

James grumbles, but he reaches up with tired hands and unknots the cuffs, lets Aleks lower his arms and rub his wrists, lets him card his fingers through James’ curls and yank him back into a kiss that is painful for the both of them with the bite marks on their lips. 

James surges forward, just as aggressive in the afterglow as in the beginning and Aleks welcomes him, pulls him closer and closer until they’re so intertwined it’s impossible for even Aleks to tell them apart. They’re both spent but it doesn’t stop them from rocking against each other like they’re still in the midst of fucking, doesn’t stop the painful kisses, the hair pulling, the threats, the violence that is more play than anything but isn’t entirely innocent, either.

He flutters butterfly kisses against James’ cheek when they’ve settled together under a single sheet, and lets himself feel smug that James flushes a little, hides his face in Aleks’ neck. His hands are on Aleks’ body still, bruising holds on his hip where Aleks still has him cradled. 

“Soon,” James sighs, and Aleks knows what he means. Their plans are coming together, tensions are running so thick between Fakehaus and the sugar boys that Aleks wouldn’t be surprised if the Pines went extinct before tomorrow was out. And from there, it would be so easy to sew dissent in Fakehaus, between the Kingpin meeting with certain members and Brett pulling his strings with Rubin. It was underhanded and entirely Lindsey’s ideas at work and Aleks was kind of getting turned on just thinking about it.

“From LA to Los Santos.” He says back, stroking James’ back. James grins against his neck, and Aleks images what he’ll look like sitting on Kingpin’s throne. Like he belongs there, probably. 

James _will_ be there, one day, or Aleks will burn the city down to cinders. For now, though, none of that matters. Only that James lays his crown to Aleks’ collar and Aleks holds him, sleeps with him warm to his chest.

Soon. 


End file.
